Temptation
by Tegril1
Summary: No love or person is perfect, not even the romance of Will Turner and Elizabeth Swann. During a decade of separation, anything can happen. Full summary INSIDE. Ultimately Willabeth. Heed all Author's Notes, please. WIP of five chapters.
1. The Prologue

**Title:** Temptation

**Author:** Tegril, also known as Calenlass Greenleaf (For _Lord of the Rings_ and _Silmarillion _fanfiction)

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fanfiction. All known POTC characters belong to Disney and the people who thought up the ideas. There are quotes from the movies, and I trust you know what they are. I'm merely borrowing them.

**Claimer:** Only the original characters and the plot are my property.

**Spoilers:** For all of POTC, and especially AWE.

**Genre: **Romance/Angst

**Timeframe:** After AWE events, but before Will returns. The sixth year.

**Rating:** T. Please read all warnings and author notes (At the beginning and at the end of this story).

**Warnings:** Tiny bit of non-consensual acts, mentions of what married people do, mild swearing, some violence, and dark angst. I've debated for a long time what rating to give, and have finally settled on a high teen rating. Everything is _hinted _at, not _written out_ graphically. I don't write R or NC-17 rated romance stories.

**Characters:** Mainly Elizabeth, with Will and others mentioned. There are also original characters in this story.

**Pairings:** Ultimately Willabeth, because these two were destined for each other. No slash.

**Summary:** No love or person is perfect, not even the romance of Will Turner and Elizabeth Swann. During a decade of separation, anything can happen. Elizabeth was once sure that she would always love Will and no one else. Now, after a few years of waiting, that conviction is slowly fading, especially when that love is challenged, and the offer looks tempting. See Author's Note at the beginning.

* * *

* * *

**_Important Author's Note regarding the plot of this story:_**

I'm not exactly fond of Elizabeth Swann in the movies. Yes, I may be a Willabether, and yes, the two of them belong together, but I'm unsatisfied with how the script writers have written Elizabeth's character and personality. She's practically "the perfect female pirate in POTC." If I were to be extremely critical, I could call her something akin to a Mary Sue. Even the way they fell in love is like the a fairy tale.

Life isn't a fairy tale, however. She's still human, and humans are imperfect. We break our promises, we argue, we commit sins. I'm not an angel, and neither is Elizabeth.

This is an attempt to make her a not-so-perfect person and a more human heroine that everyone can identify with.

-

**You don't always fight physically to prove you're strong; sometimes the emotional part is more difficult to battle.**

_-Tegril aka Calenlass Greenleaf_

**Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation: the spirit indeed **_**is**_** willing, but the flesh **_**is**_** weak.**

_-Book of Matthew 26:41, KJV version_

-

**A/N #2: **Non-consensual means that in the situation of two people, one person is unwilling to do something and the other person attempts to, or forces the first person to do something. In this story, the non-con is only an attempt and nothing more. Like I've said before, I only ship Willabeth and some Jack/Anamaria.

**A/N #3: **I've given the proper warnings and ratings; if you choose not to heed them, and find this story is not to your liking, it's not my fault.

* * *

**Temptation: Prologue**

_In Savanna-al-mar…_

She was wandering along the shore again.

The wind blew at her hair and clothing, tugging hard at time. Yet it seemed as if she was unaware them, lost in her own thoughts.

It was like a daily ritual, to visit the sea at every setting of the sun. The scene never varied, but still she went, day after day. If the weather was good, she was there. If it was raining hard and the waves were violent, she was there. If it was snowing hail and sleet, she was there.

The only time she was not there was when she had carried her child until the month it was due, and for a time after that. As soon as her child was weaned and toddling, she went back to that desolate place.

At least she was no longer alone in keeping vigil. Her son was with her. Their eyes were ever turned westward, to the sea, the horizon, and the sunset.

The people in the nearby town called her mad. She had come out of nowhere in a small boat, wearing foreign clothes, bearing a sword and other arms, and carrying a small, metal chest with strange carvings on it. Purchasing a small house at the outskirts of the city, she lived alone. The people avoided her, and the only time anyone ever visited was when she called for a midwife. The woman had gone reluctantly. The next day, she told of the odd chest. "Something was alive in there," she had whispered, fear in her eyes. "I heard a heart beating, steadily."

This piece of news spread. People began saying that the woman was some spirit from the sea, perhaps even Calypso herself. Others claimed that she was a witch, a witch who had murdered her own husband and kept his heart in the chest. The lies spread and grew, quickly as lies were wont to.

But they dared not do anything. They had seen her sword, long and dangerous, sheathed it may be, and the pistols. Calypso was not one to be trifled with, and a witch—the idea frightened them greatly. The lot of them, however, was not as superstitious as to press charges.

The women did nothing to add or abate their fears; she kept to herself, only coming out to buy things herself and her son. The children avoided him, because their mothers told them to. But those that were bold did not seek to befriend him; rather, harm him.

They found out the hard way how the woman's son was a good shot with a slingshot.

Six years passed. The townspeople continued to whisper, but not much actually had happened. They wondered how she actually supported herself and her son. She seemed to have an inexhaustible store of money, though this was not apparent at first. The foreign clothes had disappeared in the first week, exchanged by the plain clothing commonly worn. But after six years of seeing her do nothing, they wondered.

A single woman with a child, who visited the sea every day but returned as soon as the sun had set, as if she were waiting for something.

Or someone.

Savanna-al-mar was known for its sugar, and other things such as a normal port would have. It had a governor, militia, and a set of rules. No one crossed them, and relatively, things were quiet. When the woman came, it was hardly noted by the government. As long as she did not make trouble, it was none of their business.

One day, a man had come. Oddly dressed, with beads and an assortment of other things hanging from his dreadlocks and beard, a battered hat, but had several weapons on his being. The townsfolk thought him mad, and perhaps he was. He had stayed for only a day, and most of it was spent at the tavern.

But the woman knew him. Several of the people had reported her talking with him, even smiling a bit. Her son had stood by her, saying little but seeming to also recognize the man. He had handed her something they could not see, and then left without another word.

The people wondered. Who was this inhabitant of their town?

---

_London, England_

The man tapped his fingers against the surface of the smooth, polished desk. In his other hand he held a long letter. He narrowed his eyes when he came to a particular sentence. 

So Beckett had failed. As he had expected.

Reynard Cuthbert leaned back in his chair as he quickly scanned the document. It was hastily written, and the paper was of the poorest quality. The author? One of the few survivors that had limped back from the pirate attack. The pirates had at most fifteen ships. Beckett had a _fleet._He had the _Flying_ _Dutchman_, the most dangerous pirate ship, under his command.

Obviously, Beckett had underestimated the cunningness of these pirates.

In truth, Cuthbert himself had once been a privateer. Third in rank only to Beckett himself, he knew well enough what to and what not to expect of pirates. Compliancy was not one of them. Surrender was practically a thing unheard of among them. They were a stubborn-headed lot.

Now that Beckett was gone, the duty fell to him. A duty he would rather not finish. He had always hated Beckett. Pompous, lofty, tea-drinking Beckett. He dropped the letter back onto his desk in disgust. The writer was babbling something about Calypso now, and he was uninterested. She was a myth, nothing more. It was obvious this writer's mind had snapped.

His dark eyes skimmed to the last few paragraphs, and stopped.

Davy Jones was no longer captain of the _Dutchman_ Interesting. Who could it be now? Sparrow? That one was bold enough.

Cuthbert read on, before pausing once again at a familiar name. He raised an eyebrow. Never did he suspect that young William Turner would be capable. Rumors were that if someone killed the captain of the Dutchman, he would become the captain himself, whether he wanted to or not. And the last time Reynard had seen him, he was engaged to daughter of the governor of Port Royal.

Unless, that engagement had been broken. He quickly finished the document, and learned that there was now a Pirate King, a female one at that. And she was no else than Elizabeth Swann.

He wondered if the man who had penned this letter had seriously muddled up the details. More than half of the missive was about events that were either outlandish or ludicrous. 

Reynard rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, contemplating. But if the _writer_ had been telling the truth, then the information would be interesting indeed. Maybe even useful.

His mind drifted back to Elizabeth Swann. They had only met briefly, when she had been imprisoned under Beckett. She had been a spitfire, glaring at him with brooding eyes and spitting out obscenities at him. For a few days, he had been enamored of her. His men had joked that if Turner didn't succeed in bringing back the compass, Elizabeth could go to him. But after the night of her escape, his attention turned to other things, and by and by, she was only a distant memory.

Until now.

Pirate Kings could rule until their leadership was challenged, or until death. They were rare, because, as everyone knew, pirates were self-centered, and only voted for themselves.

Female kings—or, queens—were even rarer.

Elizabeth was not a simple governor's daughter. In all appearances, she had the backing of powerful pirates. How else could she have become King? There was more to her than meets the eye.

There was also the question of Turner. Again, his encounter had been a short-term one, but from a few days, he knew Turner to be a man of morals, someone who never made decisions or promises lightly. That meant he would follow through, and no matter how much he would like to abjure, he would still commandeer the _Dutchman_. If he and Elizabeth had managed to marry before all this took place, he could only see her once every ten years. She as not allowed to go with him on his journeys.

_If_ he had.

Reynard smiled. He knew many ways of persuasion. Force was one of them, as Beckett was so fond of using. Manipulation was Mercer's trade.

Seduction was another. And one he knew very, very well.

Sitting up, he found some paper and a quill. He would need to pen several letters, inform his most trusted men of his doings, and pack.

But his first priority was to find where the Pirate King was hiding.

**TBC...**

* * *

**Terms:**

(1) Savanna-al-Mar is a real port, situated in Jamaica like Port Royal is. I tried to search for information on it; Wikipedia gave me nothing, and Encyclopedia Britannica gave me two to three sentences. Even Tortuga had more paragraphs dedicated to it.

(2) A fleet is the equivalent of an army.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, you've made it this far. :) I usually don't ask, but, please, do leave a comment and give your opinion. I don't bite, unless I have good reason to.

**A/N #2: **This story's plot came to me while writing two other oneshots, "Do You Fear Death?" and "To Say Farewell." Of course, much of it also came with when watching Elizabeth willingly kiss Jack, and being kissed by Norrington (The only person she actually minded was Sao Feng). It made me think...ten years without Will, and being alone, longing for her husband, someone might come by and say to her that her husband has probably forgotten about her, and offered her something...it's not a far-fetched concept. Thus this story was born and written.

**A/N #3:** I'm terrible at names, as you can see. Highly unimaginative…hence Reynard Cuthbert was born. I changed it at lest five times, and it still sounds off.

* * *

_Thank you for reading!_

— **Tegril**


	2. The Drifting

_See first chapter for all story notes, author notes, warnings, etc._

_A thanks goes to **a muggle named Caity** for reviewing!_

* * *

**Temptation: The Drifting**

_Love lives on hope, and dies when hope is dead; It is a flame which sinks for lack of fuel._

– _Pierre Corneille_

_When you depart from me sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leave._

– _William Shakespeare in Much Ado About Nothing, Act i, Sc.1_

_Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken…to love is to be vulnerable._

– _C. S. Lewis_

"Mum?" The young voice persisted. "Mum, are you listening?"

Her head snapped up. "Yes, Liam?"

"Mum," The dark eyes held accusation. "I've been trying to tell you something!"

She blinked. "I'm sorry Liam. I just…have a lot on my mind." She looked away, towards the sea. "Why don't you go play in the sand? Just don't go near the waters; the tide is rising."

"You always say that whenever you don't want to listen." He drew nearer and took one of her hands in his. "Thinking 'bout Da?"

Elizabeth glanced sharply at him. How had he known? Then again, it was such thoughts that consumed her every day. "Yes."

"When will he come back?"

"In four years, Liam." The words tasted bitter in her mouth. "Not sooner or later," she added.

"I wish it could be sooner." Liam dropped down on the sand next to the large stone his mother sat on. "I'll be…eight when he comes back!"

"Nine," She corrected him. "You would be nine."

He shrugged, not caring too much. "I wish it could be sooner."

Her breath caught in her throat; it hurt to swallow. "He can't," she replied softly, "Or else he would die." She hated Davy Jones for what he did. A part of her even put the blame on Jack Sparrow for getting them into this entire predicament.

If only Jack didn't have the habit of slipping his leash and running.

If only he didn't always dump his troubles on others.

But the other part of her rebelled. Jack, at least, had thought to save her husband.

If only Will hadn't been so honorable. Elizabeth clenched her hands into fist on her lap. Will never did break his promises. His word was like a deed written on parchment and sealed with wax.

It was the only reason why she agreed to this, because Will had promised.

But the torment of waiting! The days passed liked years, the minutes and hours unbearably long. During the first few years, it had been easier. Raising Liam from infant, to toddler, to the child he now was had taken up most of her time. Now that Liam was five and had started school, she found herself left with more time, which she didn't want. The time alone in the house, the silence, and the fact she had no companions made everything harder to bear. The townspeople shied away from her; she was both glad and annoyed by this.

Pulling her knees up to her chest, Elizabeth wrapped her arms around them, watching her young son drawing in the sand with a finger. Her eyes stung, both from the tears and the winds that blew into her face. She wished that the days would pass by faster.

"Will…" she whispered. The gales snatched away the single word, carrying it away. "I miss you so."

There was no reply; only the sounds of the waves beating against the shore and the strident cry of a gull wheeling above, uncaring of her pain.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

_A few months later…_

Her fingers traced the patterns of the chest. Rust, stains, scratches, and other signs of abuse decorated it; witness to the fact it had been through much. The hand passed down the top, and rested on the lock, stroking it lightly.

Elizabeth rested her ear against the top of the chest, the sounds comforting as much as they were disconcerting. Her other hand drifted to her neck, seeking for the key.

She had not opened this chest for a long time now, not since the day Liam had insisted to see it. The briefest of smiles crept onto her face as she thought back to that day. Liam was very much like her; headstrong, lively, and full of curiosity. But there was also much his father; the dark, steady eyes, and smile, and the serious way he sometimes carried himself.

She sighed, drawing the key out spinning it in her hand. Dare she open it now? Inhaling deeply, she inserted the key, and turned. The locking mechanism sprung open, and she gently tipped the cover up, revealing the single thing it held.

Will's heart lay there, beating. She did not touch it; the thought made her stomach turn. Swallowing such thoughts, she gazed at it mutely. Davy Jones knew what he was doing; to kill him only enslaved another. It had agonized Will until the very end, until he had no choice.

Elizabeth could not bear to look at it longer; a minute more and she would be in tears. Closing the lid, she locked it securely and slid the key back under her undershirt. She gripped the chest in both hands, trying to picture Will's face as she had been doing so for the past few years.

It was blurred; she could remember his hair, the shape of his face, and his eyes…

But nothing more.

"No," the word slipped out, unbidden. She pressed her palms to her eyes. "I mustn't forget…mustn't." But she was, and this frightened her. "No!"

How was it that the face of the one most dear to her could be forgotten? Elizabeth bit down on her lip. "No," she whispered again. The palms of her hands were wet. She realized she was crying. Dropping her hands to her lap, she sniffed and bent her head. "Please," she said, not sure to whom she was speaking to. "Don't—" her voice snapped. "Don't take him away from me!" Her shoulders hitched as she cursed herself. "You have to remember his face, Elizabeth!"

But she couldn't.

Somewhere, a door slammed, and she jerked. Liam was home. Rubbing her face quickly with the back of her hand, she stood, taking a deep breath. God help her; she couldn't let her son see her like this.

"Mum?" the voice called out. "Mum, where are you?"

"In here," she replied, turning away from her bedroom door and bending down, trying to appear busy.

A head peeked around the corner. "I'm hungry," Liam announced.

"There's bread on the table." she said, reaching to pick up a book, not looking up as she did.

"All right." He turned to leave, and then stopped. "Mum?"

"Yes?" she tried to keep the impatience out of her voice.

"What's a bastard?"

She froze for a moment before whirling around. She covered her mouth when she took in his disheveled appearance. "Liam, did you get into a fight today?"

He shifted uncomfortably on his feet and looked down. His hair slid down, covering the bruises on his face. His clothing was torn and covered with dust and dirt.

"William, look at me." Elizabeth knelt down in front of him and gently tipped his chin up. He had a bruise on one cheek, a split lip, and a black eye. She battled the feeling of anger inside her. How dare they treat him like this?

"I didn't mean to, Mum," the boy softly said. "But I couldn't help it today!" Tears were forming in his eyes.

"Were they teasing you?" She smoothed his tousled locks with one hand.

"A little," he admitted, "They called me a-a bastard." His voice grew softer. "They were making fun of _you_. They said that-that you were…" he hesitated.

"Said what about me?" Elizabeth could hardly believe her voice was still steady.

He choked out the word. "Witch," his breathing quickened. "Then I got mad at them."

"How many were there?"

"Four," he rubbed his eyes with a fist. "I tried my best, Mum, but they just laughed at me."

Elizabeth didn't know how to answer. It pained her greatly to see her child hurting like this, and the thought that people had insulted her made her furious.

Frustration boiled over, and tears began again. She wrapped her arms around Liam. "You did well," she murmured into his ear. "I don't why people say these things about us, but they're wrong, Liam, terribly wrong." His tear-stained face mirrored hers. "Understand, William, your father was—is—a gentleman, honorable and respectable. He didn't put on airs to impress me, but was only himself." Her voice softened. "He would be proud to know what sort of son he will meet."

"That's not what they say," He rested his chin on her shoulder. "They say that pirates are opposite—dirty scoundrels that steal and kill each other."

"Some are," she admitted, "But not your father. Or me." She straightened up a little. "Do you know why I married him?"

"Because you loved him."

"Yes, well, that was one reason," She managed a smile. "The other was because he was a pirate."

"I thought he was a blacksmith."

The candid statement made her laugh, just a little. "He was both," she replied. "But no matter what he was, he was only man I could ever love and could ever marry. And he gave me you, Liam." Her eyes were clearer now. "Don't listen to what the people say. They don't know our past. They're just gossipers, nothing more."

Liam's hand found hers. "I wish he would come back soon. I hate waiting." His voice was hoarse. "Why did Davy Jones have to cut out his heart in the first place?"

The Question. Elizabeth sought for the right words. "Because his love wasn't strong enough," she finally replied. "He was tired of waiting."

As she was tired.

Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to press away the disturbing thoughts.

In the beginning, she couldn't understand Jones' predicament. He was just another monster, another tyrannical pirate captian. But now that this decision had been forced upon her, she could understand his infidelity.

"_Love…a dreadful bond," _he had taunted in her face_. "And yet, so __**easily**__ severed."_

How very true. With each passing day, she was losing more and more of Will.

"Mum?" Liam's voice brought her back to the present. "I'm still hungry."

She released him and kissed the top of his head. "Let me first see your face, and then you can eat."

"I'll be fine."

"No, you won't." She gripped his shoulder, preventing him from moving. "If we put ice on those bruises right now, they will fade faster."

"It doesn't hurt much," Liam told her. "The others fared worse. I think I broke someone's arm."

Mentally, Elizabeth reminded herself _not_ to teach her son anything more about fighting until he was little bit older. "Indeed?" was all she said.

He nodded, eyes once more sparkling. "They'll be sorry next time." He said stoutly. "You'll be, Mum."

_I have no doubt; you're too stubborn to let a fight go._ She thought as she went out the room in search of ice. When she returned, Elizabeth paused before the door.

Liam was quietly singing "A Pirate's Life for Me."

The song brought back memories, memories of the fateful day she and Will had met.

"…_We extort and pilfer, we filch and sack.  
Drink up me hearties, yo ho.  
Maraud and embezzle and even highjack…"_

Elizabeth leaned against the wall, closing her eyes and sighing. That had been the song on her lips when she had seen Will, unconscious, drifting by on a broken door off of a ship.

"…_We kindle and char and in flame and ignite.  
Drink up me hearties, yo ho.  
We burn up the city, we're really a fright.  
Drink up me hearties, yo ho…"  
_

She had fallen instantly in love with those dark eyes. For several years, that love had been hidden. After they had reached Port Royal, she had seen little of him, for she was the daughter of a governor, and he was the apprentice to a blacksmith. Yet, she had not forgotten him, nor he forgotten she. Her hand crept back to the locket. _"It's always belonged to you,"_ Will had said to her on that last day. _"Will you keep it safe?"_

She had said yes.

But why did that promise have to be so hard to keep? Fate was cruel, keeping them apart like this. He had entrusted this to her. _Why was it so hard?_ She loved him, so intensely that it hard. But the time of anticipation was wearing down on her. Maybe she wasn't trying hard enough to remember. She rubbed her forehead; the entire thing grated on her nerves.

"…_We're beggars and blighters and ne'er do-well cads,  
Drink up me hearties, yo ho.  
Aye, but we're loved by our mommies and dads,  
Drink up me hearties, yo ho.  
Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me."_

Liam's voice died away as he finished the last stanza. Gone, like her husband. She couldn't even remember his voice now, the voice that whispered endearments to her and comforted her on their last day together.

"I don't know how much more I can bear, Will," The cold sharp metal of the key dug into her palm. "I'm losing you. I don't want to, but I am."

Will _would_ come back. He would! She would prove them wrong. _All_ of them.

Her husband trusted and loved her, even after witnessing her kiss with Jack. Could she break their bond now? The vows, so hurriedly spoken during the maelstrom, were not in vain.

No, she had to be strong.

For Will.

Liam.

And herself.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open, forcing a smile onto her face for her son.

Little did she know that in a few days, her faith, already teetering on the edge, would be tested, and her limits stretched.

**TBC…**

* * *

**Notes:**

"A Pirate's Life for Me" in its entirety—

**A Pirate's Life for Me**

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.  
We pillage and plunder, we rifle and loot.  
Drink up me hearties, yo ho.  
We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot.  
Drink up me hearties, yo ho.

-

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.  
We extort and pilfer, we filch and sack.  
Drink up me hearties, yo ho.  
Maraud and embezzle and even highjack.  
Drink up me hearties, yo ho.

-

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.  
We kindle and char and in flame and ignite.  
Drink up me hearties, yo ho.  
We burn up the city, we're really a fright.  
Drink up me hearties, yo ho.

-

We're rascals and scoundrels, we're villains and knaves.  
Drink up me hearties, yo ho.  
We're devils and black sheep, we're really bad eggs.  
Drink up me hearties, yo ho.

-

We're beggars and blighters and ne'er do-well cads,  
Drink up me hearties, yo ho.  
Aye, but we're loved by our mommies and dads,  
Drink up me hearties, yo ho.  
Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.

**A/N:** Story has now become five chapters. I underestimated the length.

_Thanks for reading!_


End file.
